A Special Kind of Crazy
by FunnyBunnyWarrior
Summary: A story of two drow, one sarcastic and cynical and the other gratingly optimistic and lightheaded, and, their struggle to rely on each other in order to stay alive in The Underdark and beyond. CHAPTER 4 UP!
1. Chapter 1

This is my first attempt at writing a story. Even though I proofread it over and over again there are bound to be some typos somewhere. I am a typo queen. Anyway, I would really appreciate some reviews. Thanks.

Shil'niss stood before the scornful eye of the council. Each Drow Matron wore a simple pendant around their necks to show their power and authority as councilwomen. Twelve dark-colored chairs circled around Shil'niss, each containing a shrewd drow female. The ceiling had been fashioned to look like a spider's web. At the edge of the circular room were small tables, each had a lit candle on them; it was the only source of light in the dim room.

Their whispers rose and fell as they discussed what punishment they were to inflict upon Shil'niss for her '_heinous'_ crime. They gave her the occasional sneering glance before turning back to their discussion.

The Drow Council of Menzoberranzan was a joke, a bone thrown to the less powerful and ambitious drow to give them a sense of power and justice. The only reason it existed was because one of the more powerful drow houses thought that in order to bring some sort of order to the city a council was required and, the drow house, unsurprisingly put itself at the top most position in the council. They were quickly deposed of in a matter of a month.

Shil'niss had been told that they were discussing her innocence. Shil'niss wasn't an idiot; she knew full well that they were arguing on how to best punish her.

They were jealous and they were hypocrites. A dangerous combination, which she knew would not bode well for her.

Finally, one of the drow councilwomen stood and, said at length, "Matron De'affin, I hope you realize why you are on trial?" She failed to hide her mocking smile, which ever so slowly crept onto her face. Shil'niss seethed with rage at this subtle jab at her intelligence. This had already been explained to her many times before.

She glared at each of them hatefully. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. After a moment, she managed to reply, "Why, of course not, Hla'ani," she addressed the Drow Matron Mother without her title or her house in an attempt to ridicule her, "Why won't you explain it to me yet '_again_'?"

Hla'ani frowned but she allowed the insult to slide, knowing in her mind that she would get the last laugh in the end. "You see, Matron Shil'niss, the council has recently decreed that it must know of all the lesser Drow Houses…plans," she pointed a slender, accusing finger at Shil'niss, "and you have broken this by going to the surface, with your daughter, no less, without first discussing this with the council," Shil'niss bared her teeth in a mix of frustration and fury. What a hypocrite, she wanted to scream but she kept silent as the Matron continued, "We also have reason to believe that you went to the isle of Lantan and bought many tools and weapons that could…threaten the balance of the council. This has been done several times over the last few years," She paused, "And it comes to an end 'now'."

THE BALANCE OF THE COUNCIL, her mind screamed, what balance? They could keep all of their dirty little secrets to themselves and yet, she could not. Shil'niss was powerful because of her trips and alliances on the surface, and these Elg'caressen d'lil Blada coveted that. True to her name, meaning gambler, she had risked everything to get to the surface and had gained so much more.

They were all too cowardly to go to the surface themselves, preferring to siphon off of her accomplishments, leaving none of it for herself. She did the only thing that she could (short of a dagger in their backs). She didn't tell them. This had worked for twenty years…until now, of course.

"What do you intend to do then?" She asked. Her punishment was coming sooner or later; there was no fighting it, so she figured she might as well get it over with.

Hla'ani stood; Shil'niss closed her eyes and braced herself. For the first time in her life she truly knew what fear was. Please kill me, she thought. Death was mercy compared to whatever torture these drow had in mind.

"We proclaim you guilty," with Hla'ani's simple sentence went Shil'niss' last hope, now she only had to wait for her sentence, "We sentence you to the t'larryo shar."

Shil'niss had prepared herself for everything, except this. She fell back a step as a cold chill threatened to conquer her heart. T'larryo Shar was aptly named for it meant Broken Mind in common. The ritual within itself was enough to elicit fear but the results were even more terrifying: it stripped the victim of their sanity.

"Worry not, we shall not strip you of your Matron status," one of the drow councilwomen said. They might as well have, though, since in the end her house was doomed to fall to ruin.

Shil'niss only had two daughters, Li'lazza and Yazae. Of the two Yazae was most likely to be the one to stab her in the back when she would be weak and take the mantle of Matron of House De'affin. Li'lazza, while more powerful than her sister, was soft of heart, a consequence of her being allowed to roam the surface.

Li'lazza had a unique talent though; she could wear armor, wield a greatsword and, at the same time, cast spells. She had learned this, she claimed, from when they first traveled to the surface and had been honing her talent since. Her mother would have done away with her weak daughter a long time ago if it hadn't been for her special ability, which had served her mother on many an occasion.

Li'lazza was dangerous to keep around because of her power and, so she was sent away to become part of what the drow knew as L' akh, or The Band. The band was a group of drow women who patrolled the outskirts of Menzoberrazan, keeping away various monsters from the city. They were all from Drow noble houses and, all of them were too useful to kill outright but because of their power too dangerous too keep around.

Yazae was frail of body but what she lacked in body she made up for with her brutality. Even among the drow her temper was legendary. She had no use for subtle insults, which other drow seemed to hone to a fine art. If she disliked you, you would know.

Yazae had taken over her mother's position as Matron many times before, refusing adamantly to step foot on the surface, but Shil'niss knew that after the T'larryo Shar, it may just be permanent.

Each of the council women stood up, one-by-one, those of lesser rank being last, until they all stood before her. Then Hla'ani motioned for several of the grim faced male warriors to help carry Shil'niss away.

They roughly grabbed Shil'niss' arms and, dragged her with them, following carefully behind the group of Drow Matrons, as they made slow progress to the Ritual Chamber. Shil'niss struggled a bit but she was rewarded with a stinging slap to her face. Never had she been subjected to such blatant disrespect. And it won't be the last, she mused silently.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Anyway, here is the next chapter.

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Zebrin kept his hood low over his eyes; he feared that if he showed his face then someone would be able to tell just how nervous he was. It wasn't unusual from where he came, the drow city Sshamath, for someone to be decked head-to-toe in a robe, so that all you could see was the tip of their noses and the curve of their lips, much like he was now. From examining the other drow, all crowded around various shops, it was common practice in Menzoberranzan, too.

He jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder; sure that it was the point of a dagger. He whirled around and was relieved that, for the first and only time in his life, that it was just one of Lolth's priestesses.

He quickly rethought this when he saw the golden pendant, engraved with the likeness of an arachnid, which hung proudly around her neck. Drow Priestesses received this pendant upon entrance into Lolth's academy. As they moved up in rank a weapon was carved next to the tips of the spider's legs, so that it seemed like it was wielding it, prepared to lunge at its weak prey. It was a constant reminder to always be wary.

He gulped. All eight of the spider's hideous limbs carried a weapon, a sure sign of her hefty rank. His eyes soon came to her face, which seemed frozen in the ever-present scowl that he had become accustomed to every time that he left Sshamath. Damn Spider Wenches, he thought bitterly but behind these thoughts was a touch of fear.

"Where is your escort?" She asked quietly. Even though her voice seemed gentle, it had the same impact as if she were to outright scream.

"I am my escort." He said as confidently as he could muster. He held his hands up to show that he had, or seemed to have, no weapons. He had the weapon of magic on his side. The first words to an incantation already danced upon his lips, he was prepared to finish it if danger presented itself...or herself.

The soft-spoken drow woman gave him a withering glare. "Don't play games with me." She toyed with the pendant around her neck, as if making a point. "Answer me...truthfully this time."

"It is the truth..._mistress._" He began, allowing his voice to become his usual sarcastic sneer instead of the curt tone that he oft-used in diplomatic situations. "I am a noble from Sshamath." He knew that he was safe. No one, at least while he was in the crowded marketplace, would dare attack him or risk the ire of his house.

The priestess looked away in open disgust. Good, he thought, it's having just the effect I thought it would. Sshamath, rare among the drow, was ruled by _male_ wizards. The men had been able to take control because they outnumbered the women, thanks to the predominantly male births. This caused the drow women of other cities to go into a rage and, the men to inwardly smile; it was a hope for the down-trodden men to get back at their women.

The other cities would have surely stomped them into the ground if it hadn't been their influential trade of magical goods.

The priestess, in her anger, shooed him away with the wave of her hand. This caused Zebrin to smile; she had been in such a huff that she had forgotten to ask the name of his house or his business here, which suited him fine for the less information they knew the better his chances of survival.

The task ahead of him caused his stomach to go into all sorts of impossible knots. His father, that damned bastard, had sent him to make a trade agreement between House De'affin and his own, House Hondroth. This, he knew, was a suicide mission. Worse, his father knew it, too.

When one talked of House De'affin's Matron, Yazae; saying that House De'affin was led by one of the Lords of the Abyss would've been an understatement.

He pulled his hood lower over his eyes. Dread threatened to swallow him whole and it was only by his strong will that he had been able to stave it off. Curse his father! Curse him! He knew that he was the youngest of seven siblings, five of those being male, this coupled with his habit of not doing as told made him dispensable but…killing him? This caused him to shake with fear all over.

He squinted through the darkness. In Sshamath, artistically done faerie fire always lit the city in an array of light. Because of this, Sshamath's citizens didn't have as keen eyesight in the dark as others of their race.

He grumbled angrily as he walked down the street, pushing roughly past the other drow, and closer to his death, he was sure.

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"Matron Yazae De'affin," the drow sentry bowed, the tip of his nose brushing the floor as he addressed his Matron, "The diplomat from House Hondroth of Sshamath waits to see you."

The sickly drow woman glared at him from her ornate chair. Her stringy white hair fell from her tiara. Her limbs were so thin that it seemed as if the smallest tap could cause them to crumble into dust. Her eyes seemed as if they had been haphazardly stuck onto her gaunt face. She wore the pendant of the council around her neck. This was strange considering that it was the council's fault for what happened to the last Matron of De'affin.

No one knew, save for perhaps Yazae, what had happened to the last Matron but everyone was sure it was the Council's fault. The sentry wondered briefly why no one had attempted to overthrow this sickly Matron.

"He can wait until the Hells freeze over!" She hissed between clenched teeth, her fingers formed a fist as she beat on the arm of her chair. The sentry now understood how she had kept her position.

"You have-" He began.

"I don't _have_ to do anything! I _will_, however, see him…on my _own_ time."

"Surely, there is nothing else that requires-"

"Silence that mouth of yours; else I flay you where you stand! Unless you have been spying on me," she shot him an accusing look, "you should not question whether I have other affairs to attend or not."

The sentry could only bow meekly. He left the room and shut the door, leaving the Matron alone with her two bodyguards.

"Well," She began, glaring at the two men at her side. "Off with you."

Both of the guards bowed. They didn't think that this was wise for her to be alone but they really didn't care. She could jump on the pointy-end of a sword, for all they cared. Of course, they would never tell her that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What do you mean she won't see me?" Zebrin asked heatedly. He was ready to get this over with. The outcome, he knew, didn't bode well for him.

"Exactly, the way said it!" The sentry replied. "Now, you can sit there and be quiet or, if you prefer, you could go see her, anyway. I, however, won't be there to explain why you hadn't listened to her."

Zebrin made a gurgled noise, trying to stifle his anger. This was an insult on the highest level! The young drow wizard sat down on the stone bench, the only place to sit other than the floor. How could he not be worth her time! This was an important treaty! He grumbled something about Yazae.

"Care to repeat that to her?" The sentry asked.

"Get back to your work, flea!" He said irritably.

"This _is_ my work. I am to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Besides," He smiled, "You can't command me to do anything…unless you suddenly become a woman and your name changes to Yazae."

Zebrin leaned back against the back of the bench. He, the son of the Patriarch of House Hondroth, had been reduced to sparring words with a low-life sentry.


	3. Chapter 3

The door soundlessly opened, and Yazae stepped in. She locked the door behind her. A single lock was all that kept intruders out but, it was a strong lock, near impossible to pick or bash. The door itself was thick, too thick for any sound to escape to passing ears.

The Drow Matron held a delicate-looking tray in her hand. It was thin, made of silver, which gave it a brilliant luster. Surface-elf script had been chiseled into its edges by a now-deceased hand. Yazae had acquired it on a particularly bloody raid on an elven settlement. It was one of the pieces in her collection that she reserved for prisoners; it would be an insult to serve a guest with it.

Across the room, Shil'niss sat in a chair, made from oak wood imported from the surface. The former matron sat still, her eyes glazed with madness. Her hair, once the envy of drow everywhere, was dull, lifeless. It hung around her face in the sweaty clumps of disrepair. Overall, she had a greasy appearance, evidence that she hadn't bathed in weeks.

Her red eyes fluttered over toward the door, barely registering that someone had just entered. In her mind's eye, she was once again before the Council; Hla'ani leering at her as she stepped into the room to prepare for the ritual.

Yazae set the tray next to her mother and stepped back quickly. She was wary of her unpredictable mother. She studied the former matron for a moment. Every time she saw her she wanted to cry, not the tears that a daughter would cry for a lost mother, she considered those to beweak and foolish, but selfish tears, for Shil'niss represented what she could become.

From all appearances they were alike: weak, skinny and tired. Yet, Yazae's mind was still sharp; Shil'niss' mind had been torn asunder. Once, Shil'niss had prestige, beauty, strength, and most of all her wits. Yazae craved to be as strong and beautiful physically as she was mentally; most had thought that she wouldn't make it to be an adult for she had always been sickly, even at birth. She had, though. She had proven them all wrong. Why then, did she feel so empty?

Yazae, against what the council had expected, had kept her mother alive. Most thought Shil'niss to be dead and those that didn't could only speculate. She had kept her mother in this room, locked away, only so she could find out the location of her Treasure Room.

Shil'niss had often stupidly bragged of her hoard of magical weapons, armor and other riches that she had collected from the surface, which, she claimed, she kept in her Treasure Room. It had no known guards; secrecy of its location seemed to be its only defense. Servants of House De'affin: guards, slaves, healers, cooks, maids either didn't know or weren't telling.

Even after offering freedom to the slaves, whom didn't know that 'freedom' from their bondage was death and, a miraculous amount of gold to everyone else for information on its location, she still couldn't find it. Many slaves had come claiming that others knew where it was. When the priestesses had killed them and interrogated their corpses with a powerful spell they had found it to beall lies. She could kill every servant and interrogate their corpses, whether they claimed to have information or not, but that would be suspicious.

Yazae shook off the sneaking suspicion that the Treasure Room didn't exist. It had to; where else would Yazae keep all those items that she had gottenfrom her escapades to the surface?

She came to visit the former Matron everyday, alone, and bring with her a tray heavy with food. It seemed that, her mother was the only one who knew. Hopefully, she wouldn't carry that knowledge with her to the grave. Usually, a drow priestess could interrogate a corpse's spirit about any knowledge that they had in life but when the spirit was insane…no, it was too dangerous.

"Eat." She demanded softly. If she spoke too loudly, she risked frightening her mother.

"Hla'ani…" The crazed-woman hissed the name, as if it were a curse to make her disappear.

"Eat." Yazae said again. She was not happy about having to repeat herself.

"Hla'ani…," The matron said, with a triumphant smile, her eyes still vacant. "You thought that you could break my mind. You failed! I won! My mind isn't broken! It isn't!"

"Eat." She said impatiently, losing the last bit of her patience.

"Now, Hla'ani, it is time for YOU to go through the ritual…," She knocked the tray from its place on the table beside her. It fell to the floor with a clatter, its contents spilling across the floor. "…my way! I'll personally be the one to cut your brain from your head…let us see YOUR mind function then." The woman's lips curved into a smile, still her eyes showed nothing but insanity.

Yazae jumped back fearfully as the drow woman's arms flailed in the air, as if she were drowning, chocking on the very air that gave her life.

"Shil'niss, its Yazae!" She shrieked as she stepped backwards but Shil'niss was beyond reason, unhearing her daughter's words.

Yazae was alone to defend herself. No one would hear if she cried out for help, and if they could hear they wouldn't care. She had no defense, save for her measly repertoire of spells. She cursed her frail body under her breath, as she had done many times before.

Yazae began to step backwards, towards the wall. Her mind went blank and spewed with terror. At that moment, Shil'niss was no longer useful, no longer was she a former Matron or her mother. At that moment, she was a threat to her survival, her enemy.

She made a run for the door muttering the words to a hex as she went. Her feet pounded on the tile of the floor leaving a resonant sound. She cursed the size of the room. Suddenly, she was jerked backwards, her feet almost flew from under her.

Shil'niss had yanked her back by the collar of her blouse and now, her hands reached for her neck. Even after weeks of inactivity, she was still stronger than Yazae. She tightened her grip on Yazae's throat slowly, causing the painto increaseten-fold. She gasped for breath; the spell that she had been muttering was interrupted.

Now, Yazae was even more defenseless. She couldn't cast a spell. She did however, have one last resort. She worked up her strength and gave one solid kick to the mad drow's torso. In a matter of moments, Shil'niss' grip on her throat had loosened, allowing Yazae free.

Yazae rubbed her sore throat. The insane Matron had only been stopped for a few moments; this barely gave her enough time to mutter a spell, one that would temporarily paralyze the drow woman, rendering her immobile.

With the final words of the incantation, Shil'niss froze, her eyes burning still with hatred.

She hated using that spell. The way the victims froze, as if time had continued without them, was uncanny. What made it even worse was that she knew that thoughts went through their head still, even as the were forced to keep motionless, she couldn't use body expressions to gain insight into what they might've been thinking.

Yazae tore her eyes away from Shil'niss, and to a tapestry, depicting the drow race's descent into the Underdark for the first time, which hung from the stone wall. Behind it, she had hidden a dagger; just in case things got bad. Little good it did her, when Shil'niss had tried to kill her. At that time, she couldn't reach the dagger.

Now, she could.

Her eyes never did leave the still body of her mother, frozen in crouching position, as she sidled slowly towards the tapestry.

She stopped when she felt soft fabric brush against her shoulder. She tore her gaze away from her mother and to her side. It was the tapestry. She ripped it from the wall with a great heave. Behind it was the dagger, stuck between a crack in the bricks of the stone wall, just big enough for the slender weapon.

She turned around, the dagger in hand. She knew that the old Matron could see her, and guess her intentions.

Something about this annoyed Yazae. An unidentifiable feeling pricked at her heart, like knives. It wasn't anger or hatred… perhaps what she had felt was the absence of feeling as she steeled her heart so that, once again, she could take a life. Something about it egged her on. It egged her to make the former Matron pay in ways that only the drow could imagine.

She took a few steps toward the trapped drow. She knew that her spell wouldn't last any longer. Whatever she was to do, she would have to do it quick.

"I hate you...But know that…" She stated flatly as she circled around Shil'niss, like one of those 'birds' she had heard of in her studies of the surface that would circle around corpses.

The drow didn't…couldn't… answer.

"You're always pushing me, testing me…just like every other damned creature that I have come into contact of." Her voice was filled with the bitterness of a thousand beatings.

Her anger became greater when her mother didn't answer. It didn't matter that she couldn't, just that she didn't.

It was quick. The knife plunged into Shil'niss' back. There was no blood-curdling scream. No last words, very little blood. If there was a lot of anything it was silence.

The crazed drow woman fell limply over. Her eyes forever open. Death would keep her more still far longer than any Paralyze spell dared to.

She pulled the knife out of her mother's back. The knife's blade had been stained red. Tiny little crimson droplets fell to the ground as if the dagger was crying.

Death had a certain appeal. The sense of power that it gave her, to give the ultimate end, the one thing that inone way or the other was unavoidable and ruled every second ofone's life whether it was a Farmer hoarding money so that his children would not go without once he was gone or a wizard becoming a lich so that he could escape old age, only to die at the point of some inept adventurer's blade.

The feeling was exhilarating…addictive.

She tossed the knife aside, and with it, all the feelings that she had felt from her mother's death. She neededa wayto dispose of the corpse. She wasn't strong enough to carry the corpse to dispose. Later, She would get one of the hobgoblin slaves to help her carry the dead woman off. A hobgoblin's strength and lack of intelligence practically guaranteed them to be slaves. They asked no questions, they just did as told. She frowned. Some people could learn from them.

She undid the locks on the door with great difficulty. Afterwards, she opened it slightly and slipped through, trying not to make even the slightest sound. She closed the door behind her and walked down the stone passages, her footsteps echoing. She had an appointment with one of those bastards of Shamath.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** No part of the Forgotten Realms setting belongs to me.

Li'lazza De'affin crouched behind a rock, her armored hand gripping the handle of her greatsword. Her white curly hair coming coming out of her loose bun in all different directions. Her simplest movement would would cause her armor to clank and, make the beholder in front of her, only a few feet away from where she hid, knowledgeable of her presence. There were a number of things this beholder could do to her, all more horrid than the last. She shuddered. Life and death were only a thin line apart.

Stealth and silence was what was needed, not a lumbering, clanking fool, as Shri'lara had told her. It was no coincidence that Shri'lara also happened to be the only stealth and silence type in The Band. Li'lazza had the sneaking suspicion that Zebeya, a druid and fellow member of The Band, would have probably been able to take the beholder with her spells.

Li'lazza could see Shri'lara, her dagger's point in her sleeve and the dagger's hilt touching her palm so that it could be grabbed quickly. Her clothes were tight-fitting, so that they lacked the swishing sound and tendency to get in one's way that was a trait of looser garments.

Li'lazza could feel the sweat on her brow. One movement, one sound, and she and Shri'lara would both be dead. She cared little for Shri'lara, being the snotty little egotistical assassin that Shri'lara was, but she needed Shri'lara. Shri'lara knew how it felt to be cast aside. To be told that "You can be of use to me...fifty leagues away." She knew how it felt to be a tool, a tool that understood all too well her purpose. It hurt. It was like a writhing serpent, coiling around your heart, chocking it, so that you couldn't feel anything else.

Then again, Shri'lara didn't understand at all. She might as well have been made of cogs and wheels, like a golem she had once seen in Lantan, for all the personality, the emotion, she showed. All Shri'lara knew was that she was an assassin, living and breathing shed blood, even to the point of being abandoned by her House, left to The Band until her house had need of her abilities. That was her life, and all she had to live for. All other ambitions had died long ago.

Shri'lara fumbled the dagger in her fingers. She could sense her fingers tingling, as if they wanted to make a mistake, but she was too trained, too skilled to mess up. Her life was on the line. She inhaled some air. Her eyes on the beholder, right in front of her. Obviously, he was a lesser beholder, a very stupid one. All his eye stalks were pointed in one direction as he floated down the cavern, limiting his vision. He isn't using his talents to their fullest extent, Shri'lara thought. At least she had some sort of advantage in a situation that seemed hopeless.

She had only one chance to kill this beast, if she failed it would be able to make its way towards Menzoberranzan, where it would surely cause many problems. Was this really worth dying over? Her blind loyalty brushed away the thought. Anything that would be a problem to Lolth, her people, was worth dying a thousand times over for.

The she heard a clack. The only thoughts going through her mind were: Armor, Li'lazza and damn. She stood still, unmoving, hardly even breathing as she waited for the beholder to turn around.

But the beholder never turned. He simply moved his eye stalks around to the side and then, seeing nothing, went back to what it had been doing.

Shri'lara nearly cried or laughed from relief but she didn't, she still had a job to do while the beholder still lived. Gingerly, she edged the knife slowly from her sleeve, finally, she held it in her hand. She slowly crept towards the floating abomination, painstakingly watching the ground for anything that if stepped on would make a noise. This was a thing of patience, something that she lived for. Others were strong, others had magic, others were dexterous but she was patient.

She sidled underneath the floating beholder. She brought her arms above her head, the point of her dagger up. She thrust up with all her might, until even the hilt of the dagger was wedged into the beholder's flesh.

She heard the beholder screech, and in a dazzling display of light it sent a number of rays in all different directions, trying to hit its unseen attacker, but it never did think to look under itself.

Black blood had spilled onto Shri'lara, coating her from the head down. The beholder began to fall, dying. She clumsily rolled out of the way, just as the abomination hit the ground. She stood up brushing unseen particles off her clothing.

"You do realize that if that beholder were a little smarter," She began, talking nonchalantly to Li'lazza, who slowly crept out from behind the rock. "We would be dead." She gritted her teeth, seething with anger. Li'lazza was taken aback with her sudden change of mood. "DEAD! And if that concept is so hard for you understand then allow me to show you."

Zebeya's spell wore off, no longer did the druid blend into the stone wall, the rocky pigment of her skin went back to obsidian. She stepped between the two drow women, holding up to of her hands. Zebeya was strange, left to The Band because of her druid powers and behavior. She wore from head-to-toe rigid leathers, strong because they had come from the hide of an Umber Hulk and, expensive because of their rarity. Her white hair hair, frizzy at its edges, were tied back into a leather throng.

The druid pointed towards a nearby rock. "Zilvafay's in another fit. I cast a silence spell so that the beholder wouldn't hear her babbling."

She referred to the seer, Zilvafay, who could see things that others couldn't, but at the cost of her mind. Sometimes she was sane, but most of the time she was lost in the grips of insanity. Insanity was the only time she had visions. Nobody could figure out the source of these visions. They had first started when she was very young but slowly over time the amount of time she spent sane dropped and continued to do so. Her mother had shunned her, her house shunned her, but they were not idiots. They saw that Lolth had sent them a useful tool.

Thus, Her mother had her wizards make a headband that would relay her daughter's visions to a mirror, where her mother could watch as they happened. When she was older, she was sent to The Band. Never once had she removed the headband, even to sleep, for the price of its removal was death.

"Again?" Li'lazza asked, cocking her head to the side, slightly. Her red eyes wandering towards Zilvafay. "She's such a pest."

"One day, that girl's house is going to stop caring for her and, I'll be there..." Shri'lara frowned. "When she isn't in one of her fits she is always whining, and when she is in one of her fits she is always babbling. I just want to strangle that girl until-"

Zebeya interrupted her. "And you'll have to strangle members of her house too. I doubt that you would be able to do that, seeing as who you're targets are now..." She stopped, allowing the assassin to interpret her words however she saw fit.

Shri'lara's face went pale, her eyelids slowly coming over her eyes, until they were slits. "The caverns of Underdark don't offer the best of targets for an assassin of my caliber, but I know of three others who trust an assassin enough to sleep near her. I also know personally of a certain assassin who has been known to betray trust..."

"Shrilly, just shut up. We have to make sure the pest doesn't run away." Li'lazza said. She didn't just brush aside Shri'lara's threat however, instead, she kept it locked in the back of her mind, planning to sleep lighter than she had before.

"Shrilly?" The assassin clenched her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed, tightening the skin of her forehead, but bunching skin together at the top of her nose.

Zebeya smiled, laughing. "I think it is a well-suited name for you. It matches your voice, perfectly! Especially," She paused. "for an assassin of your caliber." Her tone was mocking, making fun of Shri'lara's earlier boast.

Shri'lara looked away, clenching her fist. "Just get the pest."

"Which one?" Zebeya asked eying both Shri'lara and the distant Zebeya, whom idly sat on a rock, her arms around her legs, chin rested on her knees, rambling about anything that came to her ruined mind.

The assassin smiled, the corners of her dark lips forming a crescent, but her eyes were anything but mirth. Her eyes lay bare all her thoughts and anger, deadly thoughts. One could see by the way her eye's irises' color became lighter, her eyebrows slanting, the raw emotions of hatred that she felt for the others, tucked neatly away until she got a chance to strike.

Zebeya had seen that look before, being the eldest of them all, she remembered life in Menzoberranzan best. She knew that the assassin would not strike, breaking the unsaid treaty. They depended on each other, each of their skills covering for another's weakness. But when one of them had become nothing but weakness, that was when the treaty was null, that was when a life was taken, either by the hand of the Underdark's beasts or ally. That had yet to happen.

Zebeya looked towards Li'lazza from the corner of her hazel eyes. "You handle her this time. You are the best at it." She added, once Li'lazza had started to walk away, her feet coming dangerously close to squishing a mushroom, glossy specks falling from its lit top and mingling with the air. "And mind the mushrooms. They are part of nature as much as you are...even more so."

Li'lazza kept walking, as if she had scarcely heard the Druid's warning. She was hesitant to come within a few feet of the seer. She had to, though. Druid and assassin both watched her, searching for any sign of fright or disgust. Li'lazza felt both. Something about the seer's insanity was frightening, strange, it was unreal. She came forward to the seer, despite her doubts.

Zilvafay watched her, an empty smile on her lips, vacant eyes watching something that no other could see, something that her mind, destroyed as it was, had created.

"Come on, Zilvy. We gotta get out of here." The warmage said, trying to prod the seer off of the rock with the blunt edge of her blade.

"Zilvy?" Zebeya asked "That name is ridiculous.." She was ignored, Li'lazza wanting only to be done with her task.

The seer hopped off the rock, giggling. The sound made the warmage frown deeply

Zilvafay swayed as she stood, as if her legs had been liquified. She began to wander in a direction opposite of Li'lazza.

Li'lazza, grimaced as she removed a rope, frayed at the edges but strong enough for its current purpose, from her pack. She tied it around the seer's hands and held its end.

"Is this another game?" The seer asked, smiling, her joy was empty. She could not see the warmage's reasons for tying her hands together, controlling her movements, anymore than she understood why she was even there. She could not see past what her mind chose her to see, even that was not her own, the headband, glossy in appearance, the metal pieces were weaved with strips of leather, enslaved her mind and visions to one who cared nothing for her: her mother.

The seer hummed as Li'lazza yanked her around by the rope.

"We can camp here, right? No more areas to patrol tonight, right?" Li'lazza yanked again the rope, hard as she could, as Zilvafay tried to wander away.

"What's wrong? Is the poor little girl tired." Shri'lara taunted.

Li'lazza laughed. "Of course. There's no point in denying it! By the way," She said, handing the end of the rope to the assassin. "It's your turn to babysit the pest."

Shri'lara snatched the rope from Li'lazza's hand, holding it with both hands, eying Li'lazza spitfully.

"Seems safe enough to set up camp..." Zebeya examined the area, scanning even the tiniest speck of dirt for toxins.

It burned. The amulet around Li'lazza's neck, underneath her armor, burned her skin. The amulet was a way for House De'affin to call for her when they had need of her. It had been so long since she had been back to her House, so long since she had seen her mother...

She paused, the others staring at her expectantly. "Whatchya know, my House is calling for me..."

"You have to leave?" Shri'lara asked.

Li'lazza nodded.

"Then leave!" Zebeya said sharply. "Last thing we need is your House hounding us because you didn't answer their summons!"

The warmage didn't reply. She walked away, greatsword at ready. She knew the way to Menzoberranzan by heart, she needed no maps, no directions. She trudged on, armor clanking loudly, echoing from wall-to-wall and to her ears. Even as her body seemed as if it were to give way, exhausted as she was, she dared not stop. Delayed summons meant death.


End file.
